


High-Risk Manoeuvre

by inkvoices



Series: Best Day For A Threesome? [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Be_compromised Valentine's Day Promptathon, Community: be_compromised, F/M, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/pseuds/inkvoices
Summary: Clint gets a text from Natasha:Don’t be alarmed when you come home and see a guy handcuffed to your bed.  His name is James.  I’ll uncuff him when I get home.





	High-Risk Manoeuvre

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the be_compromised Valentine's Mini Promptathon 2019. Thanks to CloudAtlas for beta reading! Please see the end note for warnings and prompt used.

[Don’t be alarmed when you come home and see a guy handcuffed to your bed. His name is James. I’ll uncuff him when I get home.]

Clint looks up from the text to the James in question: James _Barnes_ , as in the Winter Solider, as in Captain America’s best friend. _That_ James. Currently lying on his back on Clint’s bed with a leather cuff buckled around each wrist and clipped to the last vertical bar at each end of the row that makes up the headboard, so that his arms are beautifully spread-eagled and he hasn’t a hope in hell of getting himself free. His long hair is a bird’s nest of a mess, his plain t-shirt and jeans could do with a wash, and he’s wearing boots. Big, covered-in-mud boots on Clint’s nice purple duvet cover that’s been kicked at and pushed part way down the bed.

Clint glances back down at his phone, types [?], and hits send before raising his eyes again. 

Nope, that’s still James Barnes on his bed; cut-off sleeves showing off a damn fine pair of arms, made all the finer by the soft (Clint knows from experience) black leather cuffs, and a rucked up tee, probably from wriggling around on the bed, revealing damn fine abs to go with them. Clint’s not gonna lie: it’s a gorgeous view, duvet destruction aside. There’s no escaping the fact though that of those fine arms one is the pinnacle of human perfection and the other a masterwork of human ingenuity. Which is to say, one is a very winter-soldiery-looking arm.

His phone does the mockingjay whistle that signals a new message and Clint checks the screen again. 

Natasha’s reply is a rather unhelpful smiley face.

[Tell me Steve isn’t tied up and gagged in my bath], Clint fires at her.

He looks back up and, yeah, even an epic fuck off glare from the Winter Soldier isn’t as concerning as a stupidly smug smiley from the Black Widow.

“So,” he says, “I guess you’re James.”

The man, the myth, the legend, who’s apparently going by just ‘James’ these days, continues looking unimpressed.

Since they’ve never really been properly introduced, just passed each other in corridors and occasionally had to attend the same dull meetings, Clint tries, “Hi, I’m Clint.”

James attempts to destroy him with his eyes.

“Hawkeye,” he adds, just in case that’s more recognisable. 

He’s not sure if James transferring the direction of his glare to the ceiling means that it is or it isn’t, or if that’s a good a thing or not.

“Yeah.” Clint sighs, ignoring the next text alert and shoving his phone in his pocket. “Just give me a minute to get you out.”

However much trouble James has caused by getting into a fight with Steve (again) and leaving the Tower without telling anyone where he was going (again), meaning Steve has been teenage levels of angst and kicked puppy around Natasha, pissing her off (again)… Clint would like to point out that he’s heard _a lot_ about Steve and his best friend and their struggles to get over shit thanks to Natasha ranting, okay, but he’s had his own shit to deal with. Still, whatever level of trouble James has caused this time Clint’s still pretty sure he doesn’t deserve Natasha’s idea of giving someone a time out to contemplate their life choices when it’s clearly not his thing.

Besides, Clint wants his bed back. The thought of coming home and faceplanting on it and not moving again (until pizza gets delivered and then faceplanting back onto it _with pizza_ ) has been the only thing keeping him going for the last few hours of this long-ass day.

He sits on the edge instead, near James’ hip so he’s at a good angle to reach the closest cuff. 

It had taken a while (and some fun, and some not so fun, experimentation) for Clint and Natasha to find cuffs that they could agree on; ones that remind Nat more of his archery arm guards than the metal handcuffs she associates with the shittier parts of her childhood but which were difficult enough for Clint to get out of that they didn't feel like a joke. They’d eventually settled on these beauties that, once securely buckled, are almost impossible to get out of by yourself unless one hand isn’t tied down. Not that Clint has ever tried all that hard to escape when Natasha’s used them on him. 

James has struggled enough that the skin around his wrist is tinged pink. Once freed, Clint rubs at it gently with his thumb before James snatches it back, pulling it in close to his chest and moving the rest of his body across the bed away from Clint now that he can. He looks annoyed at himself for doing it, like he doesn't think he’s allowed to be uncomfortable, but can't seem to stop himself from doing it all the same.

“Hey,” Clint says, keeping his tone low and even. “Just checking you're okay.”

“You’re letting me go? Just like that?” Under the hard-edged cynicism his voice is rough and a bit… spacey, which is worrying.

Clint shrugs and stays where he is for a moment, giving James space and the chance to take the second cuff off by himself without Clint hovering over him.

“I like people in my bed who _want_ to be here, y’know? Consent is sexy.”

James blushes at that, which is a good look on him, and raises a knee to block Clint’s view of - holy shit. Clint realises actually maybe this is somewhat James’ thing after all, because he’s definitely turned on, albeit mixed with confusion and frustration and embarrassment. If he’d wanted to he could have used his metal arm to snap the cuff maybe, or the headboard rail itself, right? But he hadn't. He’d stayed put. Which means Clint’s gonna have to have that talk again with Nat. About letting people come to realisations about themselves slowly and on their own terms rather than forcing them to confront things, because this is more than just her giving James some quiet time while bleeding off some of her own frustration.

“So,” Clint says, carefully not looking at the bulge in James’ jeans or the leather still buckled around his left wrist. “I’m gonna go downstairs in minute to get you a glass of water. And then I’m gonna order pizza. You can use the bathroom” - he tilts his head towards the half open door in the corner which, all jokes aside, he really hopes Steve isn't actually trussed up behind - “and come down when you want, okay?”

“Pizza.” James just looks at him, like Clint’s a complete idiot and James is _clearly_ the one who should be in charge of this situation, but James hasn’t pulled himself together enough to unbuckle the second cuff and the hand fisted against his chest is shaking a little. Fucking macho bullshit.

Clint rolls his eyes and gets up, circling around the bed to get at the other cuff. James watches with wary eyes, scooting back to sit leaning against the headboard. The soles of his boots get dragged over the already marked duvet as he draws his knees up and Clint tries not to wince.

“Look,” he says, “I get that Nat’s pissed off, but we might as well have some pizza before she comes home and there’s yelling, or the next Cold War or whatever. Or before you run and she tracks you down again, and _then_ there's yelling.” Clint leans in to undo the second handcuff. “She kinda told me to leave you until she gets back though, so I for one would appreciate it if we skipped the you running part so that yelling doesn’t get aimed at me.”

“And you always do what _Nat_ says?”

It’s an obvious taunt. It’s James trying to gain the higher ground. It’s something Clint doesn't find offensive and would usually brush off, but he doesn't think that would be helpful right now. Because Natasha being in charge? Is always an excellent plan, as far as Clint’s concerned. And the insinuation that Clint’s lifestyle choices make him somehow less or weak? Fuck that.

Clint meets James’ eyes, holds them, and smirks. His hands don't falter in their task and this time when James’ wrist is free he doesn’t move away. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, answering his own question. “You do.”

He looks like a man starting to realise that this is something that’s okay; that he could want. It’s an expression Clint is all too familiar with, having seen it plenty of times in the mirror.

“Yeah,” Clint says, voice just as soft, unclipping the cuff from the headboard and worrying the buckle between his fingers. “Well, mostly,” he adds with a grin, trying to navigate them back to safer territory, but James, his eyes tracking the handcuff in Clint’s hands, is still in the moment enough (or intrigued enough) to ask, “Are they yours? Is that… what you like?”

“Yeah, they’re mine.” Damn it, Clint is not awake enough for this Kinks 101 conversation, and he doesn't violate other people's privacy as a rule but Nat left James in Clint’s cuffs on Clint’s bed in Clint’s apartment like a gift, so. “Nat doesn't like to be restrained. But sometimes she lets me make her pretty, with shi- with ropes, patterns. Make-up, sometimes. Outfits.”

James raises his eyebrows, looks Clint up and down, and this time it’s his turn to smirk. 

Clint looks down at himself and, yeah, okay. No one looking at him in his sweatpants with the elastic going at the waist, holey t-shirt, and bare feet would invite him to dress them up. 

“Okay, one,” Clint says, swallowing down a laugh, “I didn't know we were having a guest with high standards today, so shut up, and two, you wish you could look this good after the kind of day I just had.”

“Did it involve someone stealing your actual clothes?” 

“Such sass,” Clint says, then asks in retaliation, “So what do _you_ like?” and gets to watch James panic ever so slightly before he clarifies: “On your pizza.”

James rolls his eyes, but now he’s smiling and looking a lot more comfortable with the whole situation. Kink realisations included, Clint hopes.

“Pizza first,” Clint says lightly. “Pepperoni? Peppers? Lots of cheese?”

James nods, attention dropping to the cuff still in Clint’s hands.

“Okay then.” 

And, because he can be a little shit sometimes but also because he likes the way they feel (both the leather and the safety), Clint buckles the cuff around his own wrist while James watches before walking away.

He checks his phone as he makes his way down the stairs.

[Bathroom’s free, no Steve] Nat had replied earlier. [Not that I wouldn't tie him up if I thought he’d use the time productively, but he’d just brood.]

[Ordering pizza. Should be here in 20] Clint lets her know now.

[Okay. We’ll be back in 5.]

Clint knew she wouldn't have gone far, or left someone tied up completely unsupervised. She was probably hovering nearby with Lucky until Clint got home and then took the dog out to do his business.

[Also: dick move] he points out. He’s too tired to explain himself properly and Nat will get what he means anyway.

He orders pizza though the app (because every tenth online order gets him a free large and Clint’s a convert), sets out drinks, and makes sure Lucky’s water bowl is topped up while his phone whistles at him several times.

[You thought it was hot.]  
[He thought it was hot.]  
[I already knew it was going to be hot.]  
[Is valentine's day the worst or best day to ask for a threesome? I'm weighing some options on this high-risk manoeuvre.]

“Oh my god,” Clint says out loud, because _what even is this day_. 

He says it again for good measure when Nat comes in a moment later, and she’s grinning as she presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“But you’re thinking about it,” she says as Clint crouches down to give Lucky a proper greeting.

“Well, _yeah_ ,” he grumbles, ruffling the dog’s scruff, “but I’m thinking more about pizza and somebody covered my duvet in mud so my bed is not a welcoming place right now. And do not,” he adds as he gets to his feet, “tell me that - ”

“Beds are vanilla,” Nat says along with him, smiling. 

She kisses him again, lingering this time until Clint relaxes into it. He rests his hands on her hips and lets his eyes slip shut for a moment as she traces the edge of the handcuff around his wrist, barely touching his skin with gentle, calloused fingertips. 

It’s only when she steps back that he realises James is watching from the bottom of the stairs.

“Pizza,” Nat reminds him, tugging on the D ring of the cuff. “I’ll wash the sheets.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** dubious consent handcuffing of someone, f-word level swearing
> 
>   **Prompts:**  
>  (317): Don't be alarmed when you come home and see a guy handcuffed to your bed. His name is James. I'll uncuff him when I get home.  
> (661): Is valentine's day the worst or best day to ask for a threesome? I'm weighing some options on this high-risk manoeuvre.


End file.
